Dying Embers
by DealingDearie
Summary: A series of oneshots written for Sifki Week over on Tumblr.
1. Childhood

On a quiet, summery day, Loki would be found holed up in the humid library, attempting to fan himself with a book, shrinking from the sweltering heat and praying for an early winter. It was a specific, torturous kind of misery that he was made victim to each year, and the weather never failed to send him scurrying for the indoors. His brother, on the other hand, was exactly the opposite, and the friends that always stayed so close to him were the same.

They could all be found laughing amidst the heat, running around and sparring when they felt the need or diving headlong into water that remained forbidden to them. Loki hardly ever saw them inside the palace on such days, and perhaps enjoyed the solitude over their rambunctious presence. But when he was trying to read, the pads of his fingers slick with sweat just as the wet strands of his dark hair clung to his forehead, he loathed the silence around him, for it bettered his ability to hear the chatter going on outside the window, allowed him to detect with greater clarity the squeals of delight and excited laughter echoing far below.

It grated on his self-composure, and Loki, upon hearing Sif's overly high-pitched giggling just like knives thrown in his ears, slammed his book down on the stone floor, ignoring the immediate pang of guilt that washed over him at the notion of him mistreating one of his favorite stories. Walking over to the open window, he leaned over the stone to look down at the courtyard, where Thor and Fandral were calling out to Sif, who waded happily in the water a bit farther off as Volstagg continuously splashed her, eliciting playful and girlish giggles from the young child. Her blonde tresses, usually so intensely curled and falling gracefully down her back, stuck to her small, pale-skinned face, the strands so straight and so long as to reach her hips as they floated around her, a pool of dark gold in the clear water.

Her cotton dress puffed about her legs beneath the water, and she paddled forward with those bright, lively eyes of hers shining from so very far, and Loki heard Thor shout her name, beckoning, as she turned in his direction. She climbed clumsily out of the water, running and laughing when her dripping feet made tracks upon the warm, dry stone of the court, and rushed up to him, ever the loyal companion.

While they talked, Loki watched, aware of the loud splash of water as Fandral dived into it to give the lone Volstagg company, and hardly noticed when Sif's eyes wandered over and up to where he leaned out the window, silently observing them. She laid a gentle, absent hand on Thor's arm before raising her other to wave up at Loki, grinning in that odd, outgoing way of hers, akin to seeking some sort of attention, her cheeks flushed.

"Come down from there, Loki! The water is magnificent," she shouted, and yet Loki stood still, watching the children before him with equal measures of shock and reluctance.

Thor, too, turned to call him down, but the trickster only sank back into the welcoming, heated shadows of the library, cheeks reddened and heart racing. Hardly anyone ever desired Loki's company, and he ignored the feeling blossoming in his gut, that small flutter of amazement at the idea that someone could want to seek him out.

He ignored it and went back to his book and refused to think about it for the rest of the day, but an absentminded smile still graced his features.

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	2. First Kiss (First Fist)

In a very sudden moment filled with the rush of blood in his ears and the frozen, captured rage lighting Sif's face as she stood before him, Loki found it in himself, somewhere deep in his mind, to admire the way the corners of her lips curved up in anger, wondering why they did so. He found it in himself to trace the way the light waved within her grey irises, and the exact shade of warm rays beaming upon her flushed cheeks, aware of how the dark strands of her hair fell tangled and askew.

All before he was far _too_ aware of the sharp jut of her knuckles slammed against his nose.

Loki rarely ever fell victim to broken bones, and Sif's young, meager punch, though brimming with indignation and fury, could only draw blood, rather than break bone, and he fell backwards, landing with a soft, dulled thud upon the wet grass as she yelled at him. It _had_ been a crude comment, but it could hardly come as a surprise to Sif after flirting so shamelessly with him.

And so, Loki felt a grin spread, cancerous, upon his face, and watched how the rage only heightened in her fiery gaze as she stooped low enough to nearly look him level in the eyes before pulling roughly on his shirt collar to tug him to his feet. He steadied himself, trying not to fall, and noticed the glint of indecision, even hesitance, flashing across her features, pale skin flooded with color and long hair blown back by the wind. His teenage heart fluttered within the controlling confines of his chest, and he desperately wished to free it before she came closer, her fingers still curled about his collar.

"Sorry," she muttered breathlessly, her lush lips parted and glistening beneath the sunlight, and he thought that they looked all too inviting for him to simply refuse, but her eyes widened, and she beat him to it, pulling him forward as those intoxicating lips found his.

He wasn't sure if she was sorry for the punch or what came after, but the confusion was lost to the pleasurable sensation blooming within him as he crushed her to him, snaking his arms around her waist, but at the contact she pulled back, fast and unable to be followed, to rush away, and Loki was left standing in the grass, lonely and wide-eyed with his racing heart, his lips tingling.

He heard her quiet laughter carried on the wind as she vanished up the hill, and smiled at her retreating back.

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	3. On the Battlefield

If the loud battle cry was any indication, ripping through the air and making Loki pull his blade from his foe's limp, falling body as he turned to find the sound, Sif was near and lusting for blood. His dark eyes roamed carelessly over the raging fight before him and eventually fell upon the warrior maiden, soaring through the air just after a high jump as she brought her spear down and struck it through a soldier's chest, her dark hair billowing past her and caught in the wind, pale skin marred with scratches and specks of crimson.

Aggressively, she pulled the spear out, and looked up just in time to meet Loki's gaze from across the field, her small, knowing smirk seen even across the large span of distance between them.

Quickly and eagerly, she flitted away, light and graceful as ever in her leather boots, and he stood watching as the battle went on around him, tracing the lithe movements of her body as she all but danced within the midst of fallen bodies and ringing swords, slashing down at her enemies with practiced ease.

If there had ever been any doubt in Loki's mind, any mere notion at all that they would lose the fight, it was instantly eradicated by Sif's presence, and he smiled as he turned back around to drive his sword into a man's chest, using magic to deflect the blow coming at him from behind.

Her fierce shout was heard over the countless agonized screams and angry yelling, and Loki shook his head, his heart pounding furiously as the promise of victory painted his vision and coated his mind.

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	4. Sleeping Habits

Shuffling her sluggish, near-unresponsive feet beneath her, Sif made the slow trek from her room to Loki's, traveling the length of the winding, candlelit corridor that cast playful shadows upon the aged walls, her hair matted right at the back of her head and tangled as it fell against her shoulders, which were clad in her night shirt-or more accurately, _Loki's_ night shirt-that dwarfed her slender frame and hung low over her hips and thighs. Lazily, she rubbed her tired eyes as she came to stand before his bedchamber door, gently rapping on it with pale, bony knuckles.

A soft thud sounded on the other side, and she detected harsh muttering, muffled and distant, before it was pulled open to reveal a disgruntled-looking Loki, with his dark hair tousled and his nightclothes rumpled about his body, the shirt buttons pulled open at the top and letting the cool air touch the soft, marble skin of his chest. He blinked at her in the dying light and beckoned her in, his movements as effortful as her own.

Absently, he turned away to walk back to his bed, and as she followed, the fresh imprint of nightmares lingering in her thoughts, he reached a long arm behind him to grab her wrist, his cold fingers circling around the delicate bone there as he led her along with him. It had become a routine, almost an instinct, to follow Loki in his lazy descent to his mattress as he rolled over to tuck its sheets around himself, accommodating her own body beside him and wrapping the blankets about her, as well, as she snuggled against his shoulder.

Trapped beneath the heated covers, she felt content to hug her arms to his middle, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest move with each breath, relishing in the sensations coursing through her as he closed his eyes. She glanced over at him to trace the flutter of his eyelids, smiled, and let her own lids fall heavily, slipping quickly and eagerly into warm darkness, his arm placed underneath her and cradling her waist.

Briefly, just before total and blissful nothingness, she recalled how many nights she'd felt his touch upon her skin just like flames licking over her body, warm and impatient and greedy, but oddly comforting to her.

All those nights spent wrapped up in each other's arms, sleeping and falling deep into the best dreams of their lives (and sometimes stubbornly avoiding slumber for a few more hours of pleasure) , played back in her memories in flashes, and her grin widened as she nestled deeper against the pillows.

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	5. Gifts

In all of her years at his side, Sif had never imagined that Loki might vanish from her, that he might just one day completely fade from view, that he might leave his place near her _for_ her, and it was that jolt of shock that stilled her body where she stood upon the field of running, yelling soldiers in the midst of a dwindling battle, staring down at the spot just in front of her, where the trickster was hunched over the slightest with his back turned to her.

His dark hair was longer, longer than it had ever been, and the locks waved and curled at the bottoms, sticking together from the blood matted in the strands, no doubt evidence of his many previous fights. The leather of his battle armor was torn in places, and the metal was scuffed perhaps beyond repair, the etched symbols that one shone so brightly now faded with wear, just as her own armor.

With her breath held, everything seemed to stand still, and everything that she'd just seen could be erased from her memory if she only focused on the serenity of the cloudless sky above her, if she could only tune out the agonized screams and battle cries, if she could only wipe Loki from her line of vision.

But it was not so, and time caught up with her just as her memory rushed to remind her, and she recalled the flash of a spear blade raining down on her, aimed directly at her chest, just above the hard plates there, poised to strike and flying fast. And then there was a blur of green shielding the sky from her eyes, and the sharp smell of leather and blood, and the soft, distant, muffled sound of a gasp.

And then there was Loki, falling to his knees before her as he glanced down at the spear protruding from his ribs, his palms wrapped gingerly about the wooden staff as he tried to pull it out with a stifled grunt. Sif took a breath, a long, slow breath that shook her to the core, and collapsed to the ground with him, crawling on her knees to be in front of him, to gaze up into his pain stricken eyes and lay gentle, trembling fingers on his hands to still them.

She grimaced when she felt warm, hot blood spill over onto her skin, but dared not look down at it to confirm the suspicion, and she frowned at him, shaking her head as he fell forward, his chin on her shoulder, as if he couldn't hold himself up any longer. She felt the shaky, strained puff of breaths at the shell of her ear and closed her eyes against the wave of tears threatening to pour from them, burning them so badly that she was forced to close her eyelids as she wrapped her arms around his back, hugging him as carefully as she could as his lean frame shuddered beneath her touch.

"_Why?_" Sif asked breathlessly, ignoring the fight around them and praying in an odd, instinctual kind of way that no one would kill them in their moment of vulnerability, and then corrected the thought with a twinge of grief (_her_, not them). Loki's weakening grip was felt at the armor of her back, strangely enough, the pads of his fingertips soft and cold as they moved forward to touch her bared upper arms. She swore she felt him smile against her cheek.

"I figure I deserve a 'thank you', Lady. After all," he murmured slowly, his words drawn out and low, "I've not only saved your life, but given you everything you could have ever wanted."

She tilted her head against him, and ignored the fluttery sensation in her stomach at the realization that his words were indeed slurring, ignoring that pang in her chest and pushing the thought away.

"What's that?" Sif asked hesitantly, and she tightened her grip around him as he went slack against her, and he let out a soft sigh.

"With me gone, there's nothing stopping you from being with Thor."

Suddenly, the memory of desiring Thor on an aching, infuriating, heart-breaking level washed over the warrior maiden, and she felt such great sorrow come upon her that she nearly fell over, but felt compelled to continue supporting his lax weight as he struggled to breathe against her. It was a testament to her resolve that she wasn't weeping messily into his shoulder, but the tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped onto the damaged chest plates at her torso, and left trails like ice on her skin.

She'd always wanted Thor, had always longed for his love and his smile and his all, and yet Loki had, for a long, odd while, distracted her from everything, and Sif was grateful.

And if the revulsion she felt at thinking of her relationship with the trickster as a phase, as a mere thing to busy herself with, was almost too overpowering to cope with, she ignored it and instead focused on kissing his cheek, dragging her lips over to graze across his own, taking his chilled face in her hands to kiss him with all the fervor her exhausted body would allow as it shook with grief and tears, and if Sif noticed the lack of movement against her, if she noticed the lack of response, if she noticed the absence of breath in his chest, then she showed no sign of it as she moved to wrap her arms about him once more, hugging him close and murmuring in his ear, closing her eyes against the tears as she rocked his body back and forth, slowly and absently, ignoring everything around her as she imagined, for the briefest moment, that Loki was murmuring back to her, small, secret words spoken softly against the delicate shell of her ear, a comforting grin spreading against the skin there, just like always.

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	6. AU

Standing before the grave, Loki traced the sunlight dancing on the dark, smooth tombstone, watching his reflection cast within it as the sun bore down on him. In all the years he'd been visiting the familiar site, he could never quite figure out his motives, and instead always chose to stand there and stare for as long as daylight allowed, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his slender, pale hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans as the short ebony strands of his hair were tickled by the summer breeze.

There was only a word on the grave marker, and he'd traced the shapes of each letter therein with the tips of his fingers so many times that he could imagine the texture of the stone upon his skin, could easily feel the syllable murmured upon his lips.

_Sif_.

He didn't recognize the word, and it didn't beckon some sort of emotion within him, and he could never quite understand why he was still visiting the grave, or why he'd even started coming to the graveyard in the first place. It was just that the place had seemed to call to him, and the mound of earth he was standing on sung to him in soft, comforting whispers carried on the wind, or so he liked to think.

It was so very odd to him that he could feel so connected with a grave site, especially one belonging to someone he'd never known, and _yet_.

And yet, Loki could imagine a woman with dark hair and bright eyes, calling to him from across the room as she sidled closer in her crimson dress, lights surrounding her and illuminating her pale skin, which looked like marble against the golden backdrop in his mind.

Then, it was gone, wiped from his head like it had never been there, and he tightened his leather jacket more snugly about his torso, shaking off the feeling that someone was whispering in his ear, ignoring the noises he heard, ignoring the way they almost sounded like words murmured just beside him.

"You and your leather."

He ignored it and turned away, hearing something like tinkling laughter echoed upon the wind, rustling his hair and slipping beneath his jacket as he stifled the urge to turn back around.

What a curious thing, that he might be going completely insane, he thought.

Very curious indeed.

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	7. Post-Ragnarok

In the moment after the end, there was nothing, and in those crucial, blurring moments that followed, Loki breathed easy again. It wasn't even Loki, really-at least, not his body. He was aware of himself, in a very pure, curious kind of way, aware like he'd never been before, in a place he'd never truly known, trapped within his own thoughts with any memory of _before_ wiped from him.

There was no blood staining his hands, no tremble in his gait, no uneasy glint shining in his eyes. There was nothing, but he wanted so much for everything, needed to be set free from his mind for just long enough to sate the childish desire blossoming within him to go explore. He was new and everything around him was new and Loki couldn't enjoy it more.

And then there was a presence near him, so close that he could almost reach out with a grasping, seeking hold to feel it, and he saw a kindred spirit there next to him and felt an innocent, untainted kind of happiness surge through him. He stretched out his touch, and sensed the gesture returned in kind, gentle tickles upon his mind of thoughts not his own, a certain special kind of connection forming and strengthening with each second.

He heard a name murmured to him, and he felt that voice just like electricity in the air, and around that word his whole world was sculpted.

_Sif_.

**And that is the end. Hopefully, you've noticed that these have been going in chronological order and so they just keep getting a little older with each chapter. **

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